


April, 1990

by Blissymbolics



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Coming Out, Discussion of HIV/AIDS, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Teenage sexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-20 22:44:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21289391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blissymbolics/pseuds/Blissymbolics
Summary: He can still clearly read the headline branded across the bisected cover:AIDS Study Finds Virus At High Rate In–He shuts his eyes and presses his fists under his glasses, feeling Eddie’s gaze boring into the back of his head. He can’t fucking listen to this. He can’t listen to Eddie’s horror stories day in and day out, knowing that one day he may very well become one of them.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 20
Kudos: 468





	April, 1990

**Author's Note:**

  * For [samansucks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/samansucks/gifts).

**April, 1990**

“You know the death toll just passed a hundred thousand,” Eddie states matter-of-factly, sitting cross-legged on the bed with a medical journal open in his lap. “And that’s not counting all the people who died never knowing they had it, so it’s probably a lot higher. Maybe two hundred thousand just in the U.S. Definitely millions when you count Africa.”

Richie keeps his eyes fixed on the comic in his hands. He’s sitting on the floor with his back against the bed frame, trying – and failing – to tune out Eddie’s apocalyptic musings.

“Eds, I know you can’t eat a cracker without freaking out about food poisoning, but I think you’re in the clear on this one.”

He turns a page, retaining no memory of what came before it.

“Yeah, maybe for the time being. As long as I don’t trip and fall on a needle.”

“Or a dick.”

Eddie kicks him in the back of the head so hard his glasses nearly fly off.

“Beep.” – Kick – “Fucking.” – Kick – “Beep.”

Richie turns another page with no acknowledgement, a crack of a smile on his lips.

“Seriously, doesn’t it freak you out?” Eddie asks with his trademark inflection. “We’re talking about a global pandemic here. And what’re we supposed to do to avoid it? Sign an abstinence pact and go live in the woods?”

“Oh, buddy, I’m afraid the abstinence route is a bit of a closed door for me. But hey, they managed to cure the plague, and that took out like a third of Europe. They’ll figure this out too.”

He hopes.

God, he fucking hopes.

Richie keeps his eyes trained on the bold text and colorful lines sketched out in front of him, absorbing nothing as he feels Eddie’s presence looming over his shoulder.

“But they’ve been trying for five years. None of the vaccines are working, it’s still spreading, and probably getting stronger for all we know. What if it starts spreading through stuff like spit? Or water? It’s a virus; it’s adaptable.”

“Eds, if it starts killing straight people, then they’ll cure it in a week.”

Richie instantly feels all of his organs shrivel in shame, a nauseating weight squeezing his guts.

“It _is _killing straight people!”

“Yeah, junkies.”

“No, everyone!”

“So what are _we_ supposed to do about it?” Richie asks sharply, whipping around to glare up at him. “I got a B- in bio, what do you want from me? Give me that.” He reaches up to snatch the magazine from Eddie’s hands. “Stop reading this shit!” he shouts, far louder than intended, his voice breaking on the final syllable.

Then something crawls under his skin, something violent and angry. And before his brain can catch up with his body, he tears the magazine in half, the brutal rip of glossy paper sending a harsh shiver down the spine of the entire house. Then he balls his fists tight and throws the split textblock onto the floor, the two halves hitting the carpet with a synthetic flutter like a dismembered butterfly.

Fuck, why did he do that?

What the fuck is wrong with him?

He can still clearly read the headline branded across the bisected cover:

_AIDS Study Finds Virus At High Rate In–_

He shuts his eyes and presses his fists under his glasses, feeling Eddie’s gaze boring into the back of his head. His skin is flush with scalding embarrassment and white hot rage. Rage at what, he can’t decide. The damn article, Eddie’s manic hypochondria, the world outside this room and his own fucked up place in it.

He’s normally pretty adept at filtering Eddie out. After all, Eddie has been reciting government health statistics since the third grade. But he can’t fucking listen to _this. _He can’t listen to Eddie’s horror stories day in and day out, knowing that one day he may very well become one of them. He’s already been dealing with morbid daydreams where he’s the one in those pictures, emaciated and alone in a hospital bed, his funeral preparations underway from the moment of his diagnosis.

He can’t tell Eddie though. He can’t let on that this particular crisis makes his blood spasm like curdled ice. This isn’t some everyday existential threat that he can turn a blind eye to. He can’t shuffle it to the back of his mind like holes in the ozone or lead in the water. This is real, and it’s waiting for him.

“Okay, okay, chill," Eddie says nervously, almost scared.

Richie tries to push down the tremors in his chest as he wipes a sleeve across his eyes and nose.

“By the way, I checked that out from the library,” Eddie says cautiously, pointing to the mutilated magazine at Richie’s side.

“I’ll go down tomorrow and pay for it,” Richie chokes out, his voice tight and clipped.

“No, it’s okay, I’ll cover it. Seriously, you good?”

Eddie slides off the mattress and settles by his side, which prompts Richie to immediately turn his head in the opposite direction.

“Yeah, I’m good,” he replies, not convincing in the slightest.

The silence drags on. There’s a square patch of sunlight resting in the middle of the carpet. The sleeve of Richie’s flannel shirt is so damp he could probably wring it out. He pulls off his glasses so he can clean off the mist and smudges, thankful for the momentary blurriness. Sometimes the world doesn’t belong in sharp definition.

Eddie sighs. “I’m sorry I always do this,” he says apologetically, staring down at his socks. “I know it’s annoying as shit, but… sometimes if I don’t talk about it, it just sits in my head and gets worse and worse.”

Richie nods, the curls he’s been growing out conveniently covering his eyes. “It’s okay, I get it. Normally it doesn’t get to me, but… you’re right. It’s freaky as shit. I don’t like thinking about it.”

That’s a stupid statement. Of course no one likes thinking about it. Except for maybe all the fucked up people who think that people like Richie deserve whatever they have coming, but he’s guessing that’s no small number.

“I’m honestly just glad you actually give a shit,” Eddie says with a forced smile.

“Of course I give a shit. Believe it or not, I don’t want to die anymore than you do.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Eddie attempts to laugh. “But hey, we’ll be fine. There are easily a thousand other things more likely to take us out.”

Richie stares down at his knees, which are scraped and bruised from a fall he took on his bike the other day. His eyes trace the purple blotches and streaks of scabbed-over blood that Eddie cleaned off with the alcohol wipes that permanently reside in the second pocket of his fanny pack.

_I love you. I love you. I love you._

Richie heard the words thrumming in his head like a second heartbeat as Eddie’s fingers danced across his damaged skin. Maybe it was the shock of the fall – he didn’t hit his head or anything – but during those brief minutes, he felt absolute certainty that Eddie was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. The most beautiful person in the world.

_There are easily a thousand other things more likely to take us out._

Not for him. Not unless he can cut away this urge to touch the skin of other boys. Maybe if he were stronger. If he had the resilience to abstain from sex entirely. Maybe then he’d be safe. But if the simple brush of Eddie’s fingers has taught him anything, it’s that he’ll never be that strong.

“Maybe for you,” he says slowly, his heart drumming in his ears. “But probably not for me.”

He feels like he just grabbed a hacksaw and cleaved off a limb.

He’s sweating so hard that he’s starting to shiver.

And ultimately, what was the point? He has nothing to gain from this, but so much to lose.

He can’t lose Eddie. He’d gladly take a lifetime of unrequited affection over an untimely goodbye.

“Oh yeah, you’re immune to car accidents now? Where can I get the vaccine for that?”

Eddie’s voice is normal, unsuspecting, with his usual snark and bite; and Richie should do everything in his power to keep it that way. Sever any suspicion before it can take root.

“I just mean that I’m… probably more likely to get it than you.”

He braces himself, his organs sinking to the floor.

“Why? Are you shooting up behind the dumpsters when you ditch study hall?”

Fuck, how can Eddie be so dense? Isn’t it obvious? How can everyone in this damn town see it except for Eddie, who’s apparently the dumbest of them all.

“No.” He shakes his head. “I’m usually over at your place. In your mom’s room.”

It’s not even a decent setup, but he’s still expecting Eddie to respond with a slap or a kick. But instead, there’s just silence.

Richie stares at the patch of sunlight on the carpet, watching the misty shadows of the leaves outside his window dance in the breeze.

He feels like he’s trapped in a nightmare where one minute is the equivalent of an entire year. Only a few seconds have passed, but his brain is grinding out anxieties at lightning speed, broadcasting Eddie’s potential reactions: disgust, confusion, judgmental detachment, pity, all unbearable.

He can see it all. Honestly, the most he can hope for is tacit acceptance, but even a scenario as rosy as that still won't be enough.

Then, Eddie lets out a sigh.

“You’ll be okay.”

_You’ll be okay._

At least he sounds sympathetic, and really, isn’t that the most he could’ve hoped for?

“Statistically, probably not.”

“Yeah, well, statistically we all should’ve died last summer. But we’re statistical anomalies. Besides, we probably permanently turbo-boosted our immune systems with all that shit we waded through in the sewers.”

Richie lets out a short laugh.

“Yeah, you’re right. After all that, it’d be real fucking embarrassing to die from getting laid.”

Eddie quietly laughs in return, then they fall silent again, awkwardness condensing between their bodies like a chemical barrier. Richie has never been so aware of Eddie’s presence. And so terrified of it.

Then Eddie stretches out his legs, flexing his toes in the patch of sunlight.

“Have you… with anyone?”

“No,” Richie says quickly before Eddie can get anymore specific, a blush already rushing to his cheeks. “But don’t tell anyone. It’ll ruin my street cred.”

“I don’t think you need any help with that. But hey, um, I haven’t either.”

“Woah, warn me next time before you drop a bomb like that.”

“You’re such an asshole,” Eddie sighs affectionately before giving his upper arm a gentle punch that seems to shatter the invisible barrier that had crept between them.

And Richie smiles.

He did it. He actually did it. One person down, five billion to go. One by one, for the rest of his life.

He supposes he has to start being thankful for the small victories.

“But still,” Eddie says carefully, “it freaks me out. Like sure, you can get tested for it, but people lie about stuff like that all the time. Not just with this,” he says, pointing to the torn periodical at Richie’s side, “but all sorts of things.”

“God, did you let the freaky lady with the wart pictures get to you?” Richie asks, suddenly remembering that time in seventh grade when their school brought in some lady with horn-rimmed glasses and a denim skirt who made them stare at pictures of diseased genitalia, swollen and bloody with pus oozing out of leaking sores. The totality of the sex education they’ve received form the public school system thus far.

Eddie shakes his head with a smile. “Believe me, I didn’t need her help. But you know what I mean, right? People lie. People cheat. How are you supposed to trust anyone? With anything?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “Just assume the best in people?”

Eddie lets out a laugh. “That may be the funniest thing you’ve ever said.”

Richie smiles down at his banged up knees. “Yeah, you’re right.”

The room falls quiet again, neither of them so much as shuffling against the carpet.

Richie’s mind is a blank slate. He tries to dig up something to say. Something, anything, that will carry them forward.

But he doesn’t want to think about a damn thing right now. Because Eddie is still here and the world is still spinning and the patch of sunlight is steadily creeping closer as the sun sinks lower to the horizon.

He’s safe. Right here, right now, he’s safe.

Eddie shifts beside him, and when Richie turns to look at him, he’s surprised to see that his face is stark red like an overripe tomato.

He quickly glances at Richie, then immediately averts his eyes, his gaze flickering around the room.

“Hey,” Eddie starts, his voice nearly cracking, “we could always… we could…” He clears his throat of nothing. “_We’d _be safe. Together. I mean, safety in isolation and all that.”

Richie feels all the blood rush to his chest. His tongue is a solid weight in his mouth. He tries to parse out Eddie’s words, rearrange them, search for alternate interpretations like a lawyer seeking out a loophole. But Eddie is staring straight down at his feet and his face is twisted in embarrassment and he looks so nervous that Richie's afraid he'll bolt at any second.

And it’s beautiful.

“Shit, dude,” Richie breathes, an involuntary smile splitting across his face.

“Sorry, sorry, pretend I never said that. I don’t–”

Before he can make any excuses, Richie slings his arms over his shoulders. It’s an awkward position, but he doesn’t care. He squeezes him tight and gently clutches the fabric of his shirt, making it clear that he won’t be letting go without a fight. And gradually, the stiffness in Eddie’s frame seems to relax, and slowly, hesitantly, he raises his arms to hug Richie in return. They’ve hugged each other a hundred times before, but this is different. So unbelievably different.

Once the world feels steady, Richie slowly pulls away, but lets his hands glide along Eddie’s back until they’re resting on his shoulders. And before his nerves can desert him, he slowly starts to tilt his head forward. He closes his eyes on instinct, but still easily finds the delicate skin of Eddie’s lips, lingering there for only a second before pulling away.

When he opens his eyes, Eddie’s face is so red he looks like he’s a couple degrees away from spontaneous combustion. But honestly, Richie probably doesn’t look any better.

But then, a smile breaks across Eddie’s face.

“Nice,” he whispers, staring down at his hands.

“Nice?” Richie repeats with a laugh.

“Yeah. Nice.”

After a moment of awkward eye contact, they mutually lean in again, their mouths joining and separating with delicate noises that sound like fireworks in Richie’s head.

Eddie’s hair is softer than his own, and the curls unravel beneath his fingers as they awkwardly migrate up onto the bed, settling into the blankets while stroking each other’s arms in long glides that raise tracts of goosebumps. And neither of them really know how to kiss, but they’ll learn. They’ll figure it out together.

They sigh into each other’s mouths and Richie can feel his face scrunching tight when Eddie starts clumsily kissing down his neck and fuck, neither of them intended for it to go this far but Richie still finds himself eagerly unclipping his belt when Eddie starts trying to reach beneath his jeans.

It’s all so strange and otherworldly. The radiator is blowing a steady stream of warmth across their legs and the bed beneath them feels softer than it ever has before. But still, neither of them make any move to take off their clothes, as there’s an unspoken understanding that this is what teenagers do. This is how it’s supposed to be. It happens fast and ends too quickly, both of them finishing with muffled gasps that Richie wants to bottle up and preserve like the wine he sometimes steals from his parents' stash. And he’s not sure how they got here or what’s waiting for them on the other side, but it doesn’t matter.

They got to have this. Alone, right here, where it’s warm and soft and no one can hurt them. And Eddie is gently scratching at his scalp and his muscles feel heavy and his skin is vibrating and Eddie’s chest is rising and falling like one of those old bellows and no one else in the world knows about this except for them.

One day they’ll have to come clean, but for the moment, they can keep this all for themselves.

“I hadn’t done that before,” Eddie whispers, continuing to stroke Richie’s hair.

“Yeah, I know,” Richie replies, slightly confused by his repetition, but finding it sweet nonetheless.

“No, I mean, I hadn’t done _that _before.”

Richie follows his gaze down to the crotch of his shorts, where there’s a clear damp spot against the khaki fabric. Suddenly Richie understands, and isn’t sure whether he wants to laugh or cry.

There are so many snarky things he could say, both sweet and savory. But instead, he decides to kiss him simply because he can.

**Author's Note:**

> I really wished the movies touched upon the AIDS crisis and how it impacted Richie as both a child and an adult. Please let me know if you liked it!


End file.
